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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592560">give your body, give your ghost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyaltmeme/pseuds/teddyaltmeme'>teddyaltmeme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>been too long [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon, blake pov? blake pov., kinda idk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:55:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyaltmeme/pseuds/teddyaltmeme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If this past week has been frustrating, today has been infuriating. There are so many reasons Blake wishes he were back home and just as many why he wishes he were older- this week, today, is where they overlap.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lance Corporal Schofield/Lance Corporal Blake, William Schofield/Thomas Blake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>been too long [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>give your body, give your ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i just felt like i needed a blake pov for to be alone with you ?? idk it seemed necessary </p><p>anyways i love him and i think of him all the time because he’s a very handsome and good lad</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="s1">If this past week has been frustrating, today has been infuriating. There are so many reasons Blake wishes he were back home and just as many why he wishes he were older- this week, </span> <span class="s2"><em>today</em>, </span><span class="s1">is where they overlap. If it were Blake’s choice he’d simply be an old man in a rocking chair back home, not a horny teenager stuck in a war zone. He thinks it’s a little impressive that he’s managed to maintain a sex drive considering the situation, but his hormones don’t seem to have noticed where they are. Not that Schofield’s any help. It’s a bit ridiculous how attractive he finds Sco, how sometimes just looking at Sco’s hands- </span> <em> <span class="s2">of all things</span> </em> <span class="s1">- can make his mouth go dry. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Usually he can control it, keep it sated; never full but always a hair away from hungry. However, it’s been a couple weeks since he’s had enough privacy to do something about it. Blake feels tight, all wound up but one twist of the key away from working- he’s not sure he wants to know what </span> <span class="s2">working</span> <span class="s1"> is. He’ll probably just start crying, that’s what usually happens; he doesn’t often cry when he’s sad, but he almost always does when he’s frustrated. He’s been on the verge of tears all day anyway. While he’s usually good at being optimistic, right now every slight annoyance seems tenfold- potentially life ruining. Especially this fucking button, he can’t seem to get it closed no matter how hard he tries- and god knows he’s trying. Maybe it’s his useless fucking fingers, or maybe it’s because Sco’s staring at him. Whatever Sco is feeling Blake can’t decipher, probably pity- could just be second hand embarrassment. God, he feels stupid. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives up, his cheeks red hot as he lets himself fall back onto the grass. For a moment or two there’s nothing but silence, not even the comfortable kind they usually fall into, just emptiness. That is until he feels a hand on his chest- or above his chest, hovering, it stills when he looks up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘What are you doing?’ He asks, surprising himself with how flat he sounds. Sco looks startled, like he hadn’t expected Blake to notice.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I- uh, fixing it, I suppose,’ Sco stumbles over the words, ‘The button.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Don’t bother,’ He sighs. Sco has no idea how stressful he is sometimes- not that it’s his fault that Blake thinks he’s hot, but still, ‘I’ll only take it off again.’ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schofield’s hands don’t retract, in fact they keep going; his deft fingers make quick work of the button and Blake feels all the more stupid- and all the more turned on. Ever after he’s done his hands remain, still atop Blake’s stomach, just a few layers away from skin. Blake sort of wants him to move them. He doesn’t like to think about his body much; he’s not necessarily self conscious but he finds it hard to contextualise his softness in non platonic situations. There’s nothing attractive about it, is there? It just serves to prove he hasn’t really grown into himself yet, he’s not really a man is he- he doesn’t feel like one, not right now. Not when he’s worried about Sco’s hands on his stomach despite the fact that nothings even happening. 19 had seemed so old when he was a kid, but now it’s just nothing. Sco’s not much older, but he’s always seemed so adult- Blake wonders when that happens, when you grow up. He looks at Sco again, searching for an answer, but comes up short.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sco goes to move and without thinking Blake grabs hold of his wrist. He’s not all too sure what he’s doing but Sco doesn’t stop him- not even when he presses his mouth to Sco’s open palm. Sco just stares at him; eerie and unrelenting but not angry. He lets his hand drop from Sco’s wrist, bracing for the impact of whatever Sco might do- nothing good, surely. But all that he gets is Sco’s fingers on lips- so slight a touch it may as well be a ghost. His mouth parts unconsciously, and with it comes a sound he doesn’t mean to make. Whatever had possessed him moments ago seems to have moved onto Will; he pushes one finger past Blake’s lips. It tastes like shit, of course it does it’s covered in mud and god knows what else, but it’s overshadowed by how close he feels to Sco right now and the unbearable need to get him somehow closer. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">’</span> <em> <span class="s2">Tom,’ </span> </em> <span class="s1">Sco whispers it, but it rings in Blake’s ears like a gunshot nonetheless. The sheer intimacy of it forces a sound from him, something quite and unplanned, he hasn’t heard that name in a long time and never in the way Schofield says it. He says it like it’s a prayer. He adds another finger to Blake’s mouth as if it’s communion. They knock against his teeth, against his tongue, and he doesn’t dare move.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘We can’t do this,’ Will says, without making any moves to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">’<em>Please,’</em></span> <span class="s1"> Blake pleads, most of it garbled by Sco’s fingers. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Schofield just looks at him, staring with his eyebrows knit together and his mouth slightly downturned. His thinking face- </span> <em> <span class="s2">thinking thinking thinking</span> </em> <span class="s1">- he never stops fucking thinking. It scares Blake a little, his own thoughts get louder and more frantic without a distraction; what if this is just a test, what if Sco’s just gonna rat him out and then he’ll get shot on site and his mother will never know why, fuck, neither will Joe- he should never have done this. Why can’t he just stop and think before he does things; he never slows down enough for self preservation.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schofield moves his hand and with an empty mouth Blake thinks this might be the end. Then Sco’s on top of him. All around him. Sco’s arms braced either side of Blake’s head and his knees bracketing his thighs. It’s slightly overwhelming in the best possible way; to have Sco above him, faces just an inch or two apart. He can feel Schofield’s breath on his skin, soft and warm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">’</span><em><span class="s2">Will,’ </span> </em> <span class="s1">To use his god-given name feels less than holy, but it feels good; right, even. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘We have to move,’ Sco says, and Blake’s up before Sco even moves out of the way. Fumbling toward the tree Sco had been leaning on prior. He just wants so badly, so thoroughly, that he’ll take any word Sco speaks as gospel. Sco follows swiftly and they fall back the way they were, only upright, no gravity to get in the way. Sco’s hands find their way to Blake’s cheeks as he pulls him in for a kiss. It’s not Blake’s first kiss, not even with a man, but it feels like it is. It feels different somehow. Sco’s thumbs smooth over his face, almost like he’s trying to brush away the freckles there. They drop to his jacket soon enough, though, it’s undone in an instant. Sco’s hands are slipping beneath his undershirt. Blake stills for a moment; at first it’s just an innate reaction to the coolness of Sco’s palms on his stomach but the aftertaste is insecurity. But it’s hard to remain self conscious when Sco touches him with such reverence, practically impossible when Sco’s mouth moves to his neck. Blake thinks he might have moaned, he’s been trying his best to keep quite, but he’s too caught up in Sco to notice or care. Caution is the last thing on his mind right now, in fact, if someone were to come up and shoot him point blank he might not even notice he’s dead.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Can I?’ Sco asks, and Blake doesn’t even wait for his brain to catch up before agreeing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Anything,’ He mumbles, folding himself over onto Sco, he tucks his head into the crook of Sco’s neck and breaths him in. Underneath it all; the mud, the sweat, the damp, there’s something that smells so specifically Schofield that it makes Blake’s heart skip. It’s only then that his head catches up and he registers Sco’s hand at his waistband, ’</span>
  <em><span class="s2">Anything.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For the speed that Sco dispatches of them, the buttons of his trousers may well be nonexistent. One of Blake’s hands finds it’s way to Sco’s hair, desperate for something to hold on to. He can’t help the way his grip tightens when Will finally gets a hand on him. There’s still one degree of separation; his underwear. In truth he’s thankful for them, skin on skin contact seems like it’d be far too much right now. It’s already too much. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘fuck- Sco,’ Blake whines as he leans his head back- harder than intended- it hits the wood with a sharp thump but the pain of it feels secondary. He just wants to see at Schofield. He looks more alive than usual; there’s a little colour in his cheeks and his eyes aren’t quite as empty. If he’s beautiful normally, he’s maddeningly so like this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blake isn’t going to lie and say he’s done this before, the closest he’s ever gotten was rutting against some boy from two towns over in the dark; half-drunk and wholly unsure. Neither has Sco, not with another man- if he’s to be believed there were a few girls back home, but it’s not really the same. He knows objectively whatever Sco’s doing not exactly a perfect technique but it’s miles better than anything Blake’s ever felt. Maybe because he’s so desperate, maybe because he hasn’t felt someone else’s touch in a long time, but he reckons it’s just because it’s Schofield. He must be being noisy because Sco kisses him then. If he had a choice he’d want to die with Sco’s lips on his. Blake’s close, he knows he is; the tension that’s been building in his gut all day is seconds away from breaking. When it happens, though, it hits him harder than he’d ever thought it could. His whole world shatters for a moment- there’s no more war, no more stale food, nor mud soaked puttees. There’s only him and Sco and this light, heady feeling. If there is a forever, this is what he hopes it is.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blake can’t help but slump forward onto Sco again, every ounce of energy he had has left him, he’s spent. He knows he’s bound to feel disgusting in a minute when he’s left with this mess in his underwear; a little sticky and soon to be cold. But there’s not a part of him that cares right now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Better now?’ Sco asks a little absently, one of his hands making it’s way back under Blake’s shirt, all but petting his side.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Better,’ He groans confirmation, inwardly cringing at how broken his voice sounds, ‘Thank you.’</span>
</p>
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